Greet us, beautiful Suomi!
by MekkaBabble
Summary: Denmark challenges Finland to a drinking contest to kick off spring. Things happen. No one's too sure what, but Finland's on a mission to find out.
1. Chapter 1

_It was only a matter of time before I wrote for Scandinavia and the World. This started out as a one-shot of Finland drinking coffee to stave off a hangover. He got to wondering what would happen if Denmark challenged him to a drinking contest. Obviously, I decided that would make a much better story... _

It was April. This meant a number of things- cracking ice, hints of green in the countryside, and a return of daylight. All things meriting celebration. Sweden pounced on it each and every year the first of the month and rallied them all around his kitchen table to discuss a dinner party. It was a meeting that transformed Finland's generally neutral mood into an unquestionably bad mood. A meeting that left him with the burning urge to stuff his hat into his half-full bottle of homebrew, set it ablaze, and toss it onto a gas stove set to full blast. He never did. It would be a shame to waste precious alcohol on killing his friends. That's what the knife was for, after all.

Sweden distributed a series of meticulously sketched charts detailing potential menus, schedules, and locations. Everything neatly color-coded by country. Finland could think of better plans than what Sweden outlined. Plans with boobies. Plans with Sweden's Sister. Plans that involved both of them on Sweden's bed. Plans where Sweden furiously pounded at a locked door demanding they quit. Finland sniggered.

Outside the window, a moose that had been munching some fermented apples through the night finally staggered and faceplanted into the branches. "Finland, I understand you're entertained there's a drunk moose tangled up in my tree, but can we _please_ stay on topic? Now if all of you will kindly turn your attention to figure 4-A, I've provided a seating chart. You may have a few minutes to look it over and we'll put it to a vote." Finland ripped his sheet in half and let it waft to the floor. Sweden's right eye twitched noticeably. "Finland abstains. But for the rest of-"

"Wait, a drunk moose?" Norway leapt from his chair to peer out the window. "Denmark, blend up a Ponce de Leon and meet me outside!" For the uninitiated, a Ponce de Leon is the gold standard in curing a hangover. It's named after the Spanish gent who set out into the great unknown to find the Fountain of Youth and keep all humans forever young and forever functioning. It consisted of orange juice, a bottle of aspirin, at least two pickles, and a handful of rock salt just for flavor. Finland felt his saliva sour and washed away the taste with a shallow swig of homebrew. Some hangover cures alone were enough of a motivation to not binge.

Iceland, who had a saw on hand for reasons Finland couldn't immediately deduce, trailed Norway through damp grass to cut it free. Finland graced Sweden with a rare smile while the latter mumbled something about how he regretted trashing all his guns after embracing democracy.

Finland took a slow walk up to Sweden's room while the others crowded the plastered moose. He duly noted Sweden slept on a queen sized NASA Foam mattress, covered in a silk blue and yellow duvet with lube stashed directly behind the headboard. A respectable love nest indeed. There was a loud, girlish scream. Denmark. He peered through the window to discover Norway on the ground, the animal's massive head propped in his lap while Iceland held the tongue and poured the concoction into its gaping maw.

Denmark paced several meters away, yelling at Sweden. "AT LEAST YOUR WILDLIFE KNOWS HOW TO THROW A PARTY!" That, Finland felt inclined to agree with. Sweden stood rigid and pokerfaced while Denmark ranted, loudly voicing what they all felt.

"Denmark!" Norway chided, "Please keep your voice down! You'll give her a headache."

"After a Ponce de Leon, she'll be fine." On cue, the moose rolled forward, planted all four hooves on terra firma and awkwardly lurched in Denmark's general direction.

"OH SHI-" Denmark made a running dive and skidded behind Norway. Finland wondered vaguely if Sweden locked his room when he left the house. Yes, he had spent many a night across the hallway with the most busty woman in the Northern Hemisphere, but being blindfolded, handcuffed, and spanked just never lent itself to snooping in Sweden's personal space.

Despite their persistent squabbles, it was only natural Finland and Sweden would come to an unspoken consensus while occupying the others' homes. Deliberately, Sweden often departed prior to Finland's arrival with minutes to spare and vise versa. Sweden claimed it was thanks to constant e-mail communication, but Finland pointed to Sweden's insane predictability. Finland was also 90% positive that Sweden and Åland's romantic candlelit dinners turned into raunchy threesomes with his sister and having sex with family in the other room was just plain weird.

"FINLAND! QUICK, THROW ME YOUR KNIFE!" Denmark appealed. What followed was a cacophony worse than Iceland's idea of music. The moose was forgotten as all eyes lifted to Finland. For a brief moment, he felt like Norse a god just like the old days. He was able to separate a few phrases from the general yelling.

"What the FUCK are you doing in my room?"

"Thanks! This is the most entertaining thing that's happened all month!"

"Norway, why is it turning around?"

"Do NOT throw a knife! I repeat, do NOT throw a knife!"

"MOOO!"

Norway had a valid point. He wasn't inclined to leave his all-purpose kitchen knife and most efficient communication tool around _them _unattended. He pocketed Sweden's lube and walked down to the yard. In those few short minutes, Iceland had devised a plan to lead the moose back into the forest. He held Denmark's beer at arm's length as the animal followed.

Denmark climbed onto Norway with all the grace and beauty of a three-legged bullfrog in heat, unsure if he should remain put or rescue the beer. They all watched as it snatched the bottle and trotted off.

"I think I need a beer. No reason a moose gets to have all the fun… you can get down now. She's gone." Norway said, attempting to brush off Denmark.

"I have an idea, let's forget the dinner party" Denmark started, not budging. "And just all get drunk inste-"

"Second." Norway interrupted.

"Consent." Added Iceland from the distance.

With majority rule fighting his dinner party, Sweden had no choice but to concede. Democracy was truly the best government system on Earth. Finland wondered what had been wrong with them all during the periods of monarchies, mobocracies, technocracies, and anarchies. In fact, he was so moved by it all, he whipped out his knife and herded the other four Nordics to his house with a series of slashes and stabs for Denmark's proposed party. Playing host for a change would be fun.

_They did find a drunk moose wandering around Sweden. If you run a Google search, the article should come up. I'll admit this chapter is more of a flourish than anything. We'll get into the meat of the plot next chapter._


	2. Beautiful Mourning

_So here's your brief (read: useless) culture lesson. Acid house is a subgenre of electronic music popularized in London in the late 1980's at raves in abandoned warehouses. It is insanely repetitive. Airag is fermented horse milk and drank with a frequency in Mongolia. Brennivin is also the national beverage of Iceland. Its nickname is black death and it's vile. I also make no claims to know Finnish. Speakers, feel free to correct._

Sunday morning came right on time, 8:08 as promised by the weather lady in Helsinki. She had also predicted clouds and near-horizontal sleet due to heavy wind. "And whatever you do, don't sleep outside." She added kindly. All of this punctuated by a frowning sun attempting to shove past cumulonimbus in a cute little animation. Unfortunately for Finland, his weather lady was usually spot on.

Finland's eyes snapped open and he sat up with a start fearing that otherwise, he'd choke on his own tongue and drown in ice. He immediately regretted his action. It felt as though an Acid House Party featuring 24 of London's finest DJs played to a crowd of 500,000 within the confines of his skull. This in itself was a bizarre occurrence. When asked directly, he would nod his consent that Denmark's alcoholism was tame when compared to his. One of the hidden benefits of being perpetually drunk was never, ever being hung over. To make things infinitely worse, whatever he imbibed, foods, drinks, or otherwise were racing through him like Draino.

Of a will not entirely his own, Finland raced into his house and prepared to spend the next few hours worshipping the porcelain goddess. The last time he'd experienced an awakening this rude was back in 1939, when Russia decided to roll a tank into his living room at 3AM. At least he had plenty of time to think…

Clearly, it went down last night.

Last night…

_Finland blocked the door while Sweden knelt before him. "Look," Sweden begged, "it's not that we're not going to come back. We all just want something to drink besides Estonian vodka and whatever your sister brews in the cauldron under a full moon. Food would be good too, something besides bread."_

_Under Åland's recommendation, Finland allowed them to leave. This worked out well, as it gave the cousins ample time to remove valuables and sharp objects from the common areas. Åland also took the liberty of stashing the all purpose whip and rope in his room, but didn't bother explaining why._

_The others returned with a spread Finland hadn't witnessed since the last UN meeting. Guinness from Ireland, Russia's vodka, America's rum, Mongolia donated some airag, and Japan, sake. It was like 'It's a Small World After All' in poison format._

Now, all those drinks haunted his mouth like a caraway-flavored poltergeist. Finland coughed and hauled himself to his knees. From the window, he could see Denmark's bike, Iceland's and Sweden's cars, and Norway's bear sleeping on the hood. Ironically, the only vehicle not there was his. It seemed like as good a time as any to start believing in that God guy so he could pray they didn't see him snaking his way around the house WWI style because he couldn't yet find the will to stand.

_"Yes, that's exactly-" Denmark stood on his toes, his finger wagging centimeters from Finland's chin. "Hold on a sec," he dragged over a case of beer and stepped on top of it. Finland took a swig from his bottle and waved Denmark away," unless you drink like ah... a… saatanan runkkari!" The pressure in the room increased tenfold, the other Nordics fearful of breathing._

_Finland stopped dead and returned Denmark's steely gaze. He learned a number of things in that brief exchange. Firstly, that Denmark was a lot smarter or stupider than what he originally thought. Secondly, that he would do everything in his power to ensure the Dane didn't live through the night. His hand transformed into a well-manicured claw as he extended a trembling finger towards the kitchen table._

_Vaguely in the distance, Iceland asked Sweden where Denmark picked up Finnish profanity and what it meant. Sweden was too horrified to translate. Iceland shrugged and snapped a picture of Finland, his eyes redder than two embers fetched from Hell._

_Åland placed two beers adjacent to each other. "Come on Denmark! You can kick his ass! I believe in you!"_

_"Aye… Denmark." Norway warned._

_Norway sighed, downed his beer in three gulps and messaged his temples with his free hand. Denmark breezed past him "Don't worry Norway, I've already had plenty of beer. I'm invincible."_

_That gave Finland The Brilliant Idea. In capital letters. The Brilliant Idea that would make all previous human innovation look like dumpster fodder. He'd play Denmark's game as long as he invented the rules. Beer was a mere 4.0% alcohol by volume, hardly a real man's beverage. Russia taught him that beer was for the proles. Finland shoved the beers into Åland's and Sweden's open palms. Iceland snapped another picture of their confused faces and handed Finland a bottle of Brennivin._

And then… then he woke up in the sleet, barely a meter outside his front door.

Finland faced Error 404- a large vacuous hole in the chain of events. At that exact moment, he only knew two things- if Denmark wasn't dead, he planned to hack him in half before sundown and that he needed coffee before he could make any solid plans for 1st degree murder.

Finland counted to _kolme_ and hauled himself to his feet. The common space looked as though not a thing had occurred, nor was anybody present. He removed his hat and gave his head a vigorous rub, grateful at least he wouldn't spend the day cleaning. He set out to locate some coffee, which he liked the same way he pictured Åland in his fantasies- ground up and in the freezer.

Three cups later, as he whiled away the latter half of morning, his phone buzzed against his thigh. Denmark. Finland rejected the call and twitched. Denmark…

Finland texted him back, calling him horrible things. Horrible things he would never, ever say in person. When he ran out of horrible things to say about Denmark, he switched to saying horrible things about Denmark's mother. Then Denmark called back. For the time being, he set his phone to silent and glanced down at his shirt, which sported a stain from either blood or chocolate judging by the color and smell. He threw some extra coffee in the brewer for Sweden and Åland and sent Sister Sweden a text begging her to spare some time for a lowly slug such as he. Then he headed upstairs for a shower and new clothes. The day was salvageable yet.

On the way to the bathroom, Finland moseyed past Åland's room. He shuddered with his face pressed into his hands. There was a sock on the door handle and a line of hakarl decorated the floor. Finland tried desperately not to think that Sweden and Aland were sleeping with _each other_ and separated from him by mere 9.5 millimeters of wood and drywall. Granted, he couldn't complain too much. Other countries had living situations that were much, much more precarious than his- China and Tibet, Russia and Chechnya, America and Texas.

Finland took consolation knowing that his day would be infinitely better than Denmark's. At least that's how Finland placated himself until he checked his phone once again. Denmark had called him again. Twice. And Sister Sweden returned his text. '_Sunday is Masturbating Day. You already know that._' Finland's eyes went wide in shock. This went far beyond the standard drama involving threats of global warming and nuclear wars. In spite of his current amnesia, he remembered one particular moment with Sister Sweden vividly.

_He lay chained on her bed; next to him sat a spatula and tissue paper. That woman knew how to work magic on him with anything. Then she spoke. "Finland sweetie, I just want you to know that you will always, always be better than Masturbating Day…"_

Finland was crestfallen. Something happened in the past 12 hours. What it was he hadn't a clue. He wracked his brain for further information and came up empty. But Iceland had spent a hefty portion of the time taking pictures. That very same Iceland that left his car keys by the coffeemaker. Finland took a few deep breaths. Somewhere in the distance, the theme from 'Unsolved Mysteries' played.

_More to come..._


	3. Hell's Belle's

Sister Mary Hellzapoppin flapped her arms in earnest to stay aloft, at such a dangerous altitude, she had no choice. She soared over Snæfellsjökull National Park and arced towards Mother Superior Boris of the order of St. Asbj_ö_rn waiting for her at the Keflavik airstrip. The walkie-talkie around her neck emanated static. True, it reduced her wind resistance, but also afforded Sister Mary Hellzapoppin the opportunity to speak without making a crash landing.

"Hellzapoppin! Hellzapoppin!" It was Mother Superior Boris. She sounded panicked. Sister Mary Hellzapoppin reduced her cruising speed.

"Christ be with you, Mother Superior."

"There is no time for formal greetings, Hellzapoppin." Mother Superior said stoically. "The St. Basil Nuns are trying to claim Reykjavik as their territory! Sister Olga Bulgakov, daughter of Ivan, patriarch of Khumkursk, in the great state of Kamchakta Oblast, under St. Simon and Jesus Christ of Nazereth is flying right toward you. Land immediately, lest you collide."

Hellzapoppin grabbed at her rosary and in her momentary panic, failed to notice the unfamiliar nun gliding right into her flight path. Both women screamed simultaneously and crashed into each other in what would result in many bruises and at least one broken bone. They landed somewhere west of Höfuðborgarsvæðið.

* * *

><p>Flying nuns were invading Icelandic airspace, but Finland didn't know this. If informed, he would not have cared in the slightest. He drove three hours straight and was finally approaching Iceland's fairytale cottage. An apt description if Iceland played the wicked witch. It was a quaint little villa- two stories with a burgundy roof and snow-white walls nestled in a grassy valley. Stunning if one ignored the rifts in the Earth's crust dropping straight to the mantle and the sign posted out front warning passerby that unattended children would be sold into slavery.<p>

Finland parked in a stony enclave that he guessed to be the driveway. He hopped over a pit of steaming; silica infused water and saw a… thing that obstructed his path. A black thing. A black thing with fulsome orange eyes. A black thing with fulsome orange eyes that stunk of sulfur. A black thing that teleported right onto his shoulder. Not to be outdone by Iceland's pet, he grabbed what he assumed to be its neck and cleaved it in two. Black ooze leaked onto the rocks as the injured demon twitched and wailed. Just as suddenly, it stopped crying and the two halves morphed into two wholes. Finland held his knife at the ready as two infuriated bastions of Hell circled him.

"Ah! Ah!" Iceland interrupted, clapping sharply. One demon skittered toward him, the other flattened against the ground, dumbfounded. "Hólar!" he snapped, "You know better than to attack Finland! Go to time out!"

Hólar whimpered. "Now." Iceland hissed. The demon slinked its way through an open window and settled in the oven, a path of molten granite gurgling in its wake. The air temperature rose by a few degrees. "And who's this now?" He reached down to the new demon and cuddled it against his chest like a newborn. "Much better than a doorbell, don't you think?" He was too chipper and pert to justify his involvement in last night. Did he spend the night at home reading true crime novels and drinking herbal tea? Finland knew he was there and this morning, the other country did not sparkle. Something was amiss.

Iceland lightly scratched the demon's belly. A glowing orange tongue lolled out its mouth between three rows of teeth. It made a joyful noise reminiscent of America's AM Christian radio shows- static peppered with the occasional English words of damnation, sin, wrath, and judgment day.

"Come on in." Finland found his way into the cottage after Iceland. His Acer laptop sat humming on the kitchen table next to a half-eaten bowl of skyr. "How are you feeling?"

Finland gave a non-committal shrug. Dreadful, atrocious, and just plain bad were a start. "Yeah… me too." The demon squirmed out of Iceland's grasp and perched opposite the computer screen. It howled with delight? Confusion? Sounding the Second Coming? Finland was far from certain, but saw Iceland had Photoshop open. There was a well-composed shot of him giving a thumbs-up next to Denmark, clutching a glass under the table. At least something went right. He looked charming, heroic in a way.

"We have a lot to talk about." Iceland held up a sealed plastic bag. Its contents held what Finland presumed to have once been a very, very expensive camera. "This thing, right here," he gave the bag a light shake for emphasis, "cost me half of last year's GDP!"

Right. Iceland rarely had spare cash. Finland squinted hard at the twisted pile of electronics. Whatever happened, he distinctly recognized it as his handiwork. True, everything in the universe naturally migrated towards destruction. Sometimes he just helped it along.

Iceland flopped back at the kitchen table. "I've salvaged the memory card," his mood perked considerably, "which is good now that you're here because you can help me figure out who did it." Of course, Finland already had that answer, but wasn't in a hurry to share. As an alternative, he snatched a napkin and sketched a rectangle with an off-center cross punctuated with a question mark. Perhaps he could convince Iceland that it was Denmark's fault. "Yeah, I already called Sweden to fix it. He's not picking up." Of course, the message would have been clearer if all their flags didn't look exactly alike.

"Go ahead, give them a look." Finland clicked to the start of the album while Iceland provided a running commentary.

"We played Rock Band for a while, Sweden brought it over…" Finland half listened as Iceland driveled. The inception of the party suggested nothing out of the ordinary- Norway kissing his fish, Norway's bear sitting on the living room sofa as Denmark scaled a wall, Finland deftly balancing a liter of vodka on the flat of his knife, Åland with his hands under the bottle waiting for the inevitable drop.

Eventually, he reduced to general prattling. About his sister's horse farm, which mares would foal, who could _tölt_ the fastest. About the difficulties of doing laundry in a hot spring. Sure, the clothes got clean, but were prone to shrinkage. That he was sure glad Vinland never dealt with any problem that bad and how he'd kill the little bastard all over again if given a chance and that sometimes, just sometimes, he still had an urge to don a horned helmet, sail to Russia, and kick some serious ass. Suddenly, Iceland shifted course, catching Finland off guard. "I got some videos too."

_The recording wavered and settled on Sweden and Norway._

_"Åland and I are like that cute couple… the one in that movie. You know which one I mean, the movie where the ship sinks."_

_"Titanic?" Norway asked._

_"YES! We're like that. Only more badass because we can handle swimming in cold-"_

_"GUYS!" Denmark monopolized the video screen, holding a lunch bag emblazoned with 'ну погади!' shut with the strength of Thor. "This… we have to- I don't know!" Its contents wiggled and groaned._

After that, Denmark disappeared from media.

'Hу погади,' that's what Russia frequently screamed at him from across the Baltic Sea. Finland made a point never to learn a shred of that language. Knowing Swedish was bad enough. If his mood weren't already writhing at rock bottom, it would have taken an exponential drop. Russia had visited his house last night and though he couldn't prove it yet, it somehow resulted in Sister Sweden's earlier text.

"That." Iceland pointed at the bag. "What was in it?" Finland growled. He didn't need any more questions. His sleuthing skills had already hit their upper echelons and he was wasting valuable time that should have been spent getting laid. "Or this one." Iceland clicked onwards.

_Unbeknownst to Finland, he had somehow won control of the camera; he guffawed at the lens then focused on Norway and Iceland._

_"Iceland, I just want you to know that you're beautiful."_

_Iceland tossed back a shot. "Only on the outside!"_

_He panned around the room. Sweden was in the corner on the phone. Åland, absent. Things were clearly winding down. Finland set the camera down on some surface or another and pointed a clock out to the others, then the mess around the living area._

_"Right." Norway said. "We ought to go. Have you guys seen Denmark anywhere?"_

_"Clean up before leaving." It was Åland. Finland presumed from his bedroom._

_"Fair enough, we'll play a game called 'Let's throw the bottles into the dumpster from the windows and not hit passerby.'" Iceland leaned out the window and hurled a flask. Nothing at first, then an irate growl floated up. Then darkness._

Iceland sounded irritated. "After that, we left. I didn't want to drive home drunk, so I hopped on one of your reindeer and learned that you can still get a DUI riding livestock. Now I have a ticket for 90,000 Kronur and can't legally drive for two months."

Finland scrolled back to his favorite photo- one of him grinning triumphant over Denmark's stagnant form. Not for any reason than it would cheer him up. Iceland brightened as well. "Good plan. Denmark's probably still trashed. I'm going too see if I can talk him into lending me some money before he fully wakes up. Is there anywhere you need to go? I can give you a ride."

He thought hard for three solid seconds. An incredible feat considering he was still hung over. He knew he needed to eventually needed to talk to Denmark in person. For good measure, he pulled out his phone and noted that Denmark had called him six more times. Hopefully, to beg for death.

If Iceland was already visiting his house, he would take the second best option and harass the country's best friend into sharing his whereabouts. With an emphatic nod, Finland grabbed another napkin and wrote 'Norway's'. As a courtesy, he also held up the ticket. He hated being the practical one.

Iceland whirled on him. "What am I supposed to do? Hitch up the goats to a cart? Now get in the damn car!"

_More to come…_


	4. Beautiful Day

_A/N: Nope. Still don't know Finnish. I also learned after writing this chapter that there are not polar bears on continental Norway, just help me out and roll with it. Everything else should be pretty accurate._

Iceland furtively squinted at the rearview mirror, the side view mirror, and occasionally watched the road. Daring, just _daring_ a cop to show up. He wasn't in the mood for talk, not that Finland was known for his ability to hold stellar conversations. He reread Sister Sweden's text and continued to silence Denmark's relentless calls. He still couldn't make head or tail of anyone's actions, even though hints were dropping like clichés. It was then that a thought gripped his chest like a vice. For the first time that day, he took the respite to assemble what little information he had- Denmark calling him, the missing car, and Sister Sweden's refusal to see him. In a moment of sheer, unabated terror, he sent her a second text: _"Oletko Tanskan kanssa?"_

The reply came swiftly._ "No, I need to stay clean." Finland_ was awash with relief for a few, blissful seconds.

The landscape shifted from geysers and glaciers to mountains and valleys. They had made it without a gram of trouble. "Okay, we're here. Good luck." Iceland sighed then donned his usual smirk. "I'll call you." Then he sped off.

Finland strolled to Norway's house and noticed the door was already cracked open. The back door was open too. Signs of a brief struggle dotted the living room- broken bottles, couch cushions splayed about the floor, and a dead fish tangled in the curtains. Everything stank of fish- frozen fish, fresh fish, pickled fish, baked fish, rotten fish, and numerous other methods of storing fish Finland had no knowledge of.

In the back yard, he wandered past a dead polar bear and spied a figure rippling in the water among the North Atlantic fjords. He sincerely hoped it was not a narwhal. Their mating season was at hand and the males, saturated with testosterone, tended to get stabby. Finland could relate. Bubbles rose in a small concentration betraying a great struggle beneath the surface. Instinctively, he knew standing poised on the water's edge was a Bad Idea. As a precaution, he dropped his phone and knife at higher ground. The gurgling waxed intense as the current shifted and swirled. Finland crouched in closer and a halibut no less than 35kg burst forth, its tail pummeling his face. The fish stared hard at him. Its vacant, beady eyes bored into the depths of his taciturn, Suomi soul. Whatever remained of Finland's hangover was knocked out of him promptly.

Norway followed not a second later, an octopus tentacle clinging to the left side of his face. "Quick! Grab it!" Automatically, Finland seized at the appendage slapping him on all sides to keep it still. A flash of red passed across his vision. Norway possessed a battle lust unwitnessed since the Napoleon War as the gargantuan halibut dragged him under. Finland held fast to a rock with one hand and a tail with the other, desperately wishing he had kept his knife. For one horrible minute, it appeared as though the fish would drown them both. Finland took a few gulps of precious air when he could as his grip on the stone slackened. His story may have ended here. He may have been pulled out to sea with Norway by a fish possessing the strength of an empire the likes of which the Nordic boys had never encountered.

Finland mourned what he'd never do again. Dead people couldn't relax in the sauna, couldn't laugh at Sweden for losing Eurovision, and couldn't rock out to heavy metal. He wrapped his last two fingers around the rock as a flurry of gills, scales, and water flew all around him. He thought of Norway, who'd been under for a full minute at least, destroyed by the very animals he loved. This very well could have been the end of the story. This sentence fragment right here.

It wasn't though. Something miraculous happened. The halibut, in its dim awareness, zigged left when it should have zagged right. Norway took the miscalculation to blast through the surface and suck in gulp after gulp of air, and then shoved the fish toward land. Finland renewed his hold and gave the tail a singular, powerful tug whereupon Norway leapt onto it once more and summarily dragged it to solid ground. With one swift motion, he located Finland's knife and drove it into the halibut's spine. He breathed deeply and contentedly. "Great teamwork."

Finland noticed that a school of fish observed their comrade's execution with abject indifference. After all, they were fish. All animosity melted from the Norwegian's eyes. He planted a palm onto the halibut's head, and then gave it a lick. "It's perfect! Do you think this will be big enough to feed all of us?" He ran a wet arm over his wet face. "I feel bad about usurping Sweden's dinner party. We really do owe him… Finland! Don't give me that look. He's your friend too."

In spite of the mild reprimand, Finland continued to glare. Had his efforts not exhausted him; he would've killed Norway for nearly killing him.

"Denmark's calling you." Norway said, extracting the knife. "That's weird, he can just come down here to meet you." One problem solved. Finland smiled a devious smile while surreptitiously trying to reclaim his weapon.

"DENMARK! FINLAND'S OUT HERE!" Norway bellowed as he hefted the fish over his back and jerked the knife away. Finland glowered still. If Norway had not been armed he would have finished what the halibut started; but with sobriety taking its terrible hold, Finland tried to remain logical. The important thing was to locate Denmark and cause him grievous bodily harm. Minutes passed and his voice echoed through the mountains and valleys, but no reply came.

"Hm," Norway shifted his grip on the halibut, returned Finland's knife, and started toward his house. Finland's cell continued to buzz, just as it had, while Norway turned over the conundrum. With a deep sigh of one long suffering, Finland hit 'answer', set the call to speaker and passed it to Norway. "Uhm, hello?"

A light banging noise and some muffled clatter emanated from the microphone, but not a shred of dialogue. "Denmark?" A little rustling later, the call ended entirely. Norway looked gravely concerned. "I brought him back here last night." He explained as they walked.

Finland shrugged. It was a perfectly reasonable assumption that the Dane had stumbled home from Norway's early this morning, mysterious and terrifying bag in hand, and spent the morning drinking liter after liter of coffee before doing it all over again in the near future. Nothing to worry about, Iceland had that end covered. "I left Grimstad because he was asleep on Sweden's car and he's cranky when you wake him up. It's not a bad walk back here anyways." Finland took a long deep breath and smacked his forehead. Something was fishy and it had nothing to do with halibut. It was almost as if Norway was trying desperately to convince himself instead of enlightening Finland. "Denmark was already in my yard. I figured he was heading here and it was raining but he didn't want to come in." Norway called his name once more and finally received an irritated answer.

"SHUT UP!" It was very much not Denmark. In fact, the tenor voice laced with a Kalaallisut accent sounded exactly like Denmark's bad-tempered house elf.

Directly in their line of sight situated at 11 o'clock was a figure poking a fire next to the living impaired, biologically challenged, and otherwise dead mass that was once one of Norway's endangered polar bears. Norway let the fish slide from his grasp and hit the ground with a quivering thud. Inside of Finland, something exploded in an unholy combination of saliva, laughter, and compressed air all rising into his cranium causing some sort of concussion. Norway's expression morphed from pensive to confused and finally settled on unbridled horror as he realized his mistake.

"Greenland?" Norway gasped so hard he nearly choked. The country stood speckled in blood and smelled as if he had just taken a bath in cumin. "You killed one of Svalbard's polar bears! Do you have any idea how few of those we have?"

"Do you have any idea what you tried to do with me last night? It was more comfortable to kill a bear and sleep inside of it!"

"I-I thought you were Denmark." Norway said honestly.

"I thought you said I could camp here when I needed a break." Greenland thrust a harpoon towards Norway. "I swear to God I need to move in with Canada until I can afford my own place. That way, I won't be involved in your… _twisted_ games." The Inuit fumed, narrowing his already narrow eyes.

"I was drunk. I'm sorry."

"That's no excuse to do such horrible things to me! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to grab my dogs to haul home the carcass," he gestured to the polar bear. With that, using his harpoon as a walking stick, Greenland stormed off.

Finland found the exchange appalling. Not only did Norway apologize in spite of the dead bear, it also begged the question of what exactly Norway did to Greenland. At least the Nordics got to suffer as team.

He was almost curious enough to text Sweden and Åland to learn of their aftermath. Perhaps in a few hours, when he was desperate enough, he'd get in touch with them. Though this all came after he punished Denmark.

Norway stood rigid, hugging the halibut. "I thought Greenland was Denmark… I don't believe I… oh shit!" Afterwards, he dissolved into incoherence. Right on time, Iceland called.

_"Hey Finland, I got bad news…"_ That seemed to be the standard for the day. Though the way Iceland delivered it; he might as well have been introducing a infant democracy to the world. _"I was with the Faroes and he says Denmark never came home."_ Norway recovered and took great interest in the conversation. _"So I'm at Sweden's now to ask if he can do anything with my camera."_ A long pause. _"He just said he'd rather jerk off with a handful of bumblebees than see Denmark again and that we should let him rot."_ Why Iceland volunteered that information, Finland would never learn. Sweden yelled from the background for Iceland to kindly shut the hell up. _"Just wanted to give you the update. Tell Norway hi!"_

Finland hung up and exchanged glances with Norway. He was unsure how to succinctly convey, 'My girlfriend no longer wants to peg me, I'm going to owe Iceland money, and I really want to take this all out on someone and the man who tried to out drink me seems as good a person as any to blame but he happens to be definitively missing in action. I have ruled out you and Iceland of being at fault and rendered both of you blameless. Just to make you're aware of how strongly I feel about the whole situation, I am about twenty centimeters from going USSR on everyone's Aryan ass unless at least one of these problems gets solved soon.'

Instead, he gripped his knife as he reverted to his standard form of self-expression. "Perkele…" He muttered and began the death march home, motioning for Norway to follow.


	5. Beautiful Silence

Finland returned home, not at all wiser, but with Norway. An exciting variation had been added to this excellent adventure. As of 30 minutes ago, Åland _and_ Denmark were both competing for his attention. So Finland turned it into a game. He set Åland's ring to the Levan polka, Denmark's to Maamme Laulu- two of his all time favorite songs. He would let them alternate, pick up the phone and immediately end the call. Lather, rinse, wash, repeat. It was almost as good as having a functioning iPod. Almost.

Norway marched solemnly at his side. His all-out campaign to locate his best friend was landing like a dud. "I- Sweden, just listen for one second! You always think he's done something bad. Whatever it is, it's no excuse to just leave him lying around… wherever he is. No, I don't like shark meat. Why does that even matter right now?" Norway pulled the phone away from his head and turned to Finland with a start. "He wants to know if you've lost any socks recently."

What the hell kind of question was that? Of course he was missing socks. Everyone in the world had a Case of the Missing Socks. Iceland blamed gnomes and fairies, Denmark developed a theory that his dryer ate them, and Finland blamed Sweden (there was no solid logic to back this, he just defaulted holding Sweden culpable for everything bad and inexplicable). Socks disappeared so much, in fact, that Finland fully planned to implement a Bureau of Missing Socks Committee when he next went to Helsinki.

It was a question not worth addressing; instead Finland turned his attention to his porch. Ikaalinen, the reindeer Iceland borrowed, had returned as well. Granted, he had no idea that his name was Ikaalinen. For all intents and purposes, he assumed his name was actually a knife flashing in the sunlight. He appeared none too pleased to see a bear in his territory, though; and his bad mood amplified by the fact he had been jolted from his slumber by a strange, sparkling man who demanded a ride home by actually _speaking_. It was a frightening experience for an animal who had been taught from birth that human speech was nonexistent. In true Suomi fashion, he set about the bear with cloven hooves of doom.

Right. The bear. Finland could scarce remember a time when a large, violent animal prowling his yard for company and warmth rated among the least of worries. Ironically, it was Norway who seemed strangely unconcerned with the mirthful violence of nature. He continued to argue with Sweden.

It also appeared that Ikaalinen had toted back company previously overlooked. Finland felt a small weight on his foot. It was Hólar. He looked very happy and minorly apologetic. The demon strained upward to Finland's knee, waiting for him to receive a bouquet of flowers gripped in his drooling jaws. Finland committed the grievous error of making eye contact with it, and then found it impossible to blink. In spite that every shred of his being protested, he reached down to accept the bouquet. Hólar grinned expansively.

The flowers, picked fresh from Iceland's volcanic soil, were quite pretty and came with a note. 'Sorry I attacked you. Can we be friends?' The stems were slimy and while Finland wasn't aware of what chemical compounds made up demon saliva, he imagined none of them should come in contact with human skin. The longer he held the apology bouquet, the more his hand tingled and the more purple his fingers turned. Perhaps, he would tell Iceland that if he really wanted an economic recovery, he should train his pets to slobber into a jar then send it into the black market weapon trade.

Hólar seemed deeply satisfied. Not giving the action much forethought, Finland gave the demon a swift kick that sent it sailing towards Ikaalinen. Both reindeer and bear fled among the lakes.

Norway sighed deeply as the countries reached the kitchen. "That bastard _knows_ Denmark's trapped and won't do a thing about it." He fell heavily into a chair and buried his face into his arms. As Norway spoke, Finland noted that the coffee he left earlier remained untouched. Since it was there, he hit 'percolate' and let the brewer perform its glorious work. While it happened, he set Holar's flowers in the sink to let the saliva evaporate off. A few minutes later, Finland held the pot in one hand and a steaming mug of Sumatran Blend in the other, extending it to Norway. Coffee? The gesture asked.

"Please." Norway said. He took the pot and drank the brew straight, finishing nearly half of it in one go. As he drank, he thought aloud. "He has to be somewhere in something of yours, Finland. Otherwise, wouldn't he be calling me? Hmmm…"

Though at an apparent standstill with nothing to do except generate a logic model, Finland did pick up one clue gathering trick during the course of the day: pay attention to the phone. Åland hadn't given up talking to him in the past few minutes, but finally settled on sending a text.

'WE have a big problem and need to talk it out soon. By the way, if you haven't found out yet I'm sorry about the car. I'll take full responsibility.'

Finland sat pokerfaced and glanced at Norway, who didn't seem to be doing much of anything besides sucking down coffee.

'Oletkolainata autoani?' He texted back

'To Sweden's. I told you I'd take care of it. PLEASE don't turn it into a big deal. I'm not in the mood today. Stop texting.'

'Aloitit se.' Finland grinned and hit 'send' one final time. For good measure, he put more coffee into the brew pot. He didn't mind being generous, not this time. Finland's mood soared. He had, through his own volition, located Denmark. To swing the situation fully in his favor, Norway wasn't paying him a lick of attention. Excellent! He snatched a napkin, scrawled out 'BRB', and pinned it with his knife to a spot he was certain Norway would notice- the sleeve of his that, Finland nearly skipped in his excitement to his room. There, he found his favorite axe.

_A/n: Happy Wednesday. I did miss my weekly update (thanks to a trojan virus which cost me a whopping FOUR days of writing) and had the choice to remove a chapter and post Sunday as planned or do a short bit to give you some time to locate Denmark yourself. If you haven't got it, keep reading. If you have, keep reading anyways. We'll see where he his next time._


	6. Insert clever title here

_A/n: This is it. The chapter I've been waiting to share. Enjoy!_

Finland stood opposite Åland's door, feeling just like that guy Scotland wrote about- Sherlock Something- and pulled a sock off the door. _His_ sock off the door. He collected the hakarl in a cup stationed in the bathroom and set it near the sink. It would go downstairs whenever the smell became too much or Åland found it and complained. Whichever came last.

He hefted the axe, testing the blade for sharpness, then prepared to act out his favorite scene from 'The Shining'. But first, just to make absolutely, 100% certain that he wouldn't walk in on Sweden and Åland, he knocked. On one traumatic occasion, Finland entered this very room without knocking only to find his cousin towering over Sweden, wielding a whip, and wearing nothing but high leather boots and a Swastika armband. His sister sat primly in an office chair; hands in her lap, watching.

_"You can't do anything right that I tell you to, can you… you dirty Swede."_

_Wow. All this time, Finland just assumed Sweden's idea of foreplay was hugging._

_Sweden yanked at the ropes that bound him. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me. Beat me, mein fuhrer!"_

_It easily made the Top Five Awkward Moments of all their lives and, to this day, none could remember the other four. Sweden gradated to a shade of blue uncannily similar to his flag as Åland turned._

_"Uhm… Sweetie," Finland knew that tone well. Åland bided his time for a few seconds while he deliberated on Finland's punishment, "here's the thing. If we're going to do this right, you can't give me orders. Stay here, I'll be right back."_

_Like Sweden could go anywhere. Finland bolted, Åland and his penis trailing closely behind. He barely outran his enraged cousin, nearly falling down the stairs in the process. He slept fitfully under the stars that night. In the morning, he drank. He drank to forget. He drank until he was certain he'd require a liver transplant. He drank to unsee, but the trick didn't work. The following day, Finland huddled under his duvet and shook. That week, he was too sick to keep down anything but homebrew and reindeer milk._

From then on, he always knocked. Finland noted with satisfaction that as soon as his fist hit the door, the phone calls ended. Some muffled cries emanated from within, but not a single yell. A promising sign. Then he swung. It sounded like something hit a wall inside. He swung again. This time, he heard a muted scream. Again! _Crack!_ On the forth strike, he cut a sizable chunk from the door and spied Denmark inside bound to the headboard with a slice of duct tape over his mouth. Finland sucked in a deep breath and stuck his head through the hole.

"Täällä on Suomi!" He singsonged in true Shining fashion, just unable to help himself. He'd waited since 1980 for the opportunity to do that. A happy tingle ran up his spine and down again. Denmark vigorously shook his head and struggled so hard Finland was vaguely surprised he didn't dislocate anything.

Then Finland froze, Denmark was positioned exactly like Sweden. The only differences being that Denmark remained clothed and it didn't look as though he'd enjoyed Åland's beating in the least. That explained, quite neatly, what Sweden was angry about. Finland briefly considered grabbing the whip and giving Denmark another trashing, but ultimately deemed it more effective to stick with his original idea. Instead, he found Denmark's cell phone, under his hand and set it on the nightstand. It could always be resold later.

Denmark furiously rubbed the duct tape covering his mouth against his shoulder, making excellent progress as Finland moved in. Just as he lined up the axe with Denmark's jugular to strike…

The duct tape peeled off and Denmark wasted not a single atom of oxygen. "NOOOOORWAAAAYYYYY!"

Suddenly but not at all unexpectedly, Norway barreled into the room. Before Finland had half a chance to attack, Norway walloped him at the base of his skull and he experienced his second blackout in less than 24 hours.

* * *

><p>Then he woke up facedown against the cool tile of the kitchen floor, Norway straddling his back on the decent chance he'd recover like a boar playing dead and lunge. They knew him far too well. Bit by bit, his field of vision regained clarity and sharpness, but his head positively <em>throbbed<em>. It was entirely possible that Norway's blow had permanently destroyed the section of his brain that processed sour flavors and the ability to feel empathy. His arms were free, but it didn't matter since the only things within his reach were porcelain, grout, and Norway's legs. All the rage melted out of him like marshmallow Peeps in the microwave as he reoriented himself to the Land of Awake.

It took a lot of squinting and blinking, but he finally discerned the blurry form of Denmark at the kitchen table, head in his hands. He seemed none to anxious to do anything but listen to Norway talk. Finland felt dizzy and therefore remained comatose.

"… and when he slapped me across the face with my own fish, I half-suspected something, but I didn't _stop_." Norway said.

"Don't worry about it, seriously," said Denmark, "Greenland'll get over it."

Norway leaned forward, putting extra weight on Finland's shoulders. "That's not what I'm worried about," he said. "How many times have I done that? I mean, brought another country to my house treating him like it was you when I was drunk?"

"To Greenland, just this once." Denmark sat up and stretched.

"And…" Norway swallowed hard, "what about overall?"

"Netherlands said four since he started counting. Hey! Did you notice that Finland's come to?"

Norway's forearm migrated to the back of his neck and pressed lightly. "Before I let you up, I have one question." Finland interrupted the best he could. His head hurt terribly and he sought solace through caffeine. Slowly, very slowly, he lifted an arm, snapped, and pointed to his coffee mug.

"Oh yeah, sorry." Denmark passed down the life saving liquid and Finland noted with a substantial amount of schadenfruede that he winced with each movement.

"As I was saying," Norway continued, "I'm willing to let you up if you promise not to go Charles Manson on us." The world almost dissolved around him again, but Finland strove to push himself upright and took a long draught of the now lukewarm and bitter brew. His senses fuzzy, he nodded.

"Okay." Norway lifted off him and knelt close. Curious onlookers and other voyeurs could easily misconstrue this as concern, but Finland knew better. Norway's primary and sole concern was ensuring his best friend's safety. With an effort borne only of a sullen will to survive, Finland clambered to his feet and held out a shaky palm for the coffee once again.

"Just so you know," Denmark ventured, "this is rotten timing, but there's a thing in Åland's room. Russia dropped it off last night and you probably don't want it in your house, but you also don't want to touch it."

If that was truly the case, Finland needed to know exactly what it was. It sounded like something dead, in which case it would eventually layer itself on top of many other stenches populating his house- hakarl, halibut (thanks to Norway) and now Russia's surprise. He left the other two staring blankly as he returned upstairs.

Almost immediately, the smell of hops bombarded his nasal cavity, potent enough to taste. It was strongest under the bed, where Finland discovered the crumbled brown bag that made Denmark rigid with terror. With a shrug, he pulled it open, at a point that he didn't even care if it was a new and improved strain of smallpox. There wasn't too much that could possibly make the day any worse up to and including new and exciting communicable diseases.

Indeed it _was_ alive. He'd seen it plenty of times before. In fact, in true form of international relations, each country treated its existence as a worldwide crisis on par with an economic downturn. Unsure of how to handle it themselves, they passed the buck to another given half the opportunity. Nobody wanted it but in the same breath, no one knew the surefire method to get rid of it, therefore it made an Euler circuit around the world.

Last time it came into Finland's possession, he shipped it to far away Nepal. The logic being that there was a wise guru he'd seen on tv once that could conceivably perform the Nobel Peace Prize worthy act of reasoning this thing out of its own existence and finally Saving the World That was last month. Now it was back. Finland couldn't deal with it logically, not right now. He shoved it back under Åland's bed and grabbed Sweden's car keys off the dresser on the way back to the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Denmark and Norway continued to chatter and both had helped themselves to some of Åland's beer. Finland followed their lead and retrieved a fresh bottle of homebrew from the freezer, downing half of it in one go. The cusp of the Nordic boys' relationships was being the best enabler possible to the others. After being stark-raving sober for a solid four hours, it was time to insinuate himself back into his standard inebriated state of being. It helped his train of thought, anyways.<p>

"So," Denmark began, "Sweden's mad because he thinks I slept with Åland?"

"That's the way he explained it to me." Norway said.

"Preposterous! I remember exactly how it went!"

Finland was surprised. Denmark still had his memory in spite of drinking almost as much as him, yet barely making two thirds of his weight, and he had just used a four-syllable word correctly in context.

He and Norway listened with undivided attention as Denmark narrated.

_Finland deftly poured equal amounts of Brennivin into twin glasses. He and Denmark emptied them in tandem while the others looked on, excited, stoic, worried, and cheering, respectively._

_"One-one." Sweden added a tally to a sheet of paper._

_A quick repeat, save this round, Åland kindly topped their glasses with mead to create a carbonated toxic soup. Finland paid no mind and chugged. Denmark gave his beverage a stir with two fingers and followed suit._

_"Go Finland!" Iceland knelt down to shoot from another perspective._

_"Don't encourage this!" Norway snapped. "In fact… Denmark, cut this out right now!" Denmark set his glass down with the demeanor of a misbehaving puppy at the site of Norway's vexed expression. "This is like challenging Brazil to a football match with a broken leg."_

_Finland couldn't argue with that one. He had the dubious honor of being the best drinker in the North. The mood of the party adopted a different tone as they fell into silence, but only for a few seconds._

_"Hey!" Iceland popped up, "I've got a better idea anyways. Let's have a penis measuring contest!"_

_Sweden nodded approvingly. "Perfect. I've got some penis-size comparing music on my iPod, but left it in the car. Åland, come with me while I get it."_

_"I hope Sweden gets back soon, he's probably already measured his and I bet it's really big." Denmark said._

Wait… what?

"Denmark," Norway interrupted. "First, that's not what happened at all. Second, we measured penises few weeks ago, not last night. Third, you didn't listen when I asked you to stop."

He processed this like it was a divine revelation. "Then I dunno," he said. "But I don't think I slept with Åland. Hell, I didn't sleep at all last night. He's more violent than you, Finland. I'm not going to be able to move naturally for a week."

No shit. Åland would pound anyone who opened the door for Russia, to say nothing of stashing _that_ within a 50-kilometer radius of his home. Finland concurred. Åland took appropriate action. Whatever happened to the car was summarily forgiven.

"Well, that's that," Norway dropped their cups in the sink and the bottles in recycling, "we should go visit Sweden and set this straight. Probably get ready to implement formal grievance procedures too."

The exact thing Finland had hoped to avoid. Except... he tossed the car keys to Norway and gave Holar's bouquet a rinse in scalding water. Sister Sweden stayed in the home on Sundays and solving the Mystery of Forced Abstinence was the original reason he bothered with this drama to start. He already had flowers to present to her and, for good measure; he procured a half-thawed trout and balanced it on top of his head. That was how to impress a lady, after all.

_More to come..._


	7. The end!

_A/N: Let's Finnish this! Get it?_

It looked like Tang. That really wasn't the best description though. It looked like Tang that someone had drank, vomited back up, mixed with drugs, brine, and cucumbers, then ran through a blender just to froth it up. Somehow, it fizzed as well, giving the distinct impression that heated sulfur had been added to the concoction. It looked like a smoothie from hell.

All things told, that was only a stone's throw from the truth. Norway topped it off with a purple cocktail umbrella to jazz it up.

"A Ponce de Leon?" Denmark blinked bleary-eyed at Norway, who offered the cup to him like King Arthur's holy grail filled to the brim with the finest champagne. "I'm not hung over. I'm just really, really tired." Norway responded by adding Red Bull to the mix.

Finland kicked back in his easy chair, watching the show. It had been running for a good half hour and was way better than any Finnish sitcom he'd seen. Denmark wasted no time in letting them know he didn't feel like going to Sweden's. That the tension and anger would be just as palatable the next day, and that he really could just do with a few beers and some sleep. Norway, though, wasn't having it. He'd already cycled through diplomatic reasoning and bribes, and now, resorted to threats. At least, threats by Norway's standards.

"Come on," Norway said disarmingly. "You know it'll make you feel much better. I even upgraded the painkillers from Aspirin to Ibuprofen."

"I will throw it up on you if you make me drink it. Now, I'm going to get my bike and ride home." Finland wondered why Norway didn't conk _him_ on the head, drag him to the trunk of Sweden's car, and just stuff him in. That's what should've happened. So it went in the game of favorites.

"Nope!" Norway grabbed Denmark's shoulders and propelled him the general direction of Sweden's car.

"OWowowowowow ow ow ow!"

Of course, Norway ceased and desisted on the first 'ow' and then retreated altogether for a few minutes. Finland thought hard. For some reason, that was easier with a slimy trout bonding itself to his hat. He had an ice pick lying around somewhere. It would be no trouble at all to give Denmark a frontal lobotomy and they could finally get this mission underway.

How did that saying go? 'I'd rather have a frontal lobotomy than a bottle in front of me?' Maybe it was the other way around. In any case, he found it under the chair and fancied to play a really fun game of amateur surgeon. He'd grown quite fond of it over the years.

But, again, Norway foiled his plan. "Okay," he said. Something sparked between the two because Denmark visibly tensed in spite of Norway looping an arm around him in a gesture of fraternity. Should he pass the ice pick? Finland guessed no, but held the thought. "We're friends, right?"

"Yes…" Denmark said through clenched teeth.

"Then, as a favor to me, will you get in the car?"

Denmark hung his head, completely and utterly defeated. Emotional blackmail! Finland bit back an urge to applaud. Sometimes, it was more fun to leave the scars that didn't show.

"Yes…" he groaned. "But first, lemme drink that Ponce de Leon."

Entertaining to be sure, but Finland still would've preferred throwing Denmark in the trunk. A weak and unenthusiastic '_Skål' _floated on the wind, Denmark reappeared two shades paler, and then they were off.

* * *

><p>A curious sight greeted the trio over in Sweden's driveway. Finland first immediately noticed his car. His blue Nissan demolished, with Åland lying on the crunched hood among glass and a pile of twisted metal that looked like it had been run through an unlubricated trash compactor twice. The wheels were intact, but that's about as promising as the situation got. Upon alighting from the vehicle, tension assaulted all six of Finland's senses (Yes six. He had yet to discover what the final sense did, but knew it kicked in hard when he held a gun). It felt almost as though North Korea and Nazi Germany had appeared unannounced and uninvited to the Swedish countryside with the Beer Ghost dressed as a pirate perched on top of a nuclear warhead, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was only Åland.<p>

He raised his hand in desultory greeting. Finland already concocted a few plausible theories as to what in god's good holy name happened to his car. Front contenders included that Åland was a really, really crappy driver or that, in his drunken zeal, he entered a demolition derby. However, that didn't negate the former.

Finland wished he didn't promise himself that he wouldn't get angry. It wasn't that he necessarily _tried_ to control his temper, but he did try to try. None of that made a lick of difference to Åland when Finland landed a solid stab on his hand.

"Careful with that!" he snapped. "That's going to leave a small, annoying bruise." Finland was highly disappointed. The reaction should've been an equal counter attack. Upon second glance, it looked as it Åland had been crying. Finland didn't like it. Sure, he thrived on Åland's travails, but only when he caused them.

"Sweden apparently has an alcoholic moose," he sighed. "I found this out when I slept in the car last night. I left a case of beer in the trunk and the moose found it. I'll get you a check by the end of the week." Clearly, there were bigger worries than the car at hand. Åland and Sweden were in the middle of a huge spat thanks to Denmark who insisted, despite not remembering, that nothing happened. In fact, he explained en route that being in Åland's bed was really fun at first until he realized that the horizontal tango wouldn't be involved. Of course, Norway believed him. Convincing Sweden would be another hurdle entirely.

"Come on," Åland said. "There's something you need to see."

Posted on Sweden's front door was a sign. Not just any sign. It was a sloppy sign, typed up hastily in Comic Sans. "He's always been a fan of Helvetica or Times New Roman. It looks like an ad for a kid's lemonade stand." Åland explained.

While the font looked like child's scrawl, but the text sent a painful, unequivocal message: 'No Finns.'

"Herregud." Norway cursed.

They must've made quite a commotion, because the doorknob wobbled and Iceland appeared in the frame. "Hey guys," he whipped off his sunglasses with a flourish and glared solely at Finland. His voice was deceptively calm. Here it came. "Finland, I'm glad Holar got you the flowers. I'll give him a puffin as a treat later. You know the cuter the animal is, the more he enjoys devouring its soul. But," Finland barely ducked as a bag of camera parts flew squarely at his forehead. "you owe me 70,000 krona!"

"Wait," Norway interrupted, "I'm not saying this isn't important if not really disturbing, but how's Sweden?"

"Uhm," Iceland stalled, "you can come in and ask him, I don't think he'd mind."

"Great!" Denmark chirped and made to push past Iceland.

"Whoa! Hold up! Bad idea, Denmark!" Iceland pointed to Norway. "_You_ can come in and talk to him. I don't think he'd mind." His gaze panned over the remainder of the crew. "You all should wait outside. I'm telling you, Hell's a' poppin' all over the North."

"Oh no…" Denmark groaned.

Oh yes... Finland let out a cackle that was far more fitting of a choking parrot than a human being, and shifted a maniacal stare between Denmark and Åland. It was time to add a new chapter to the history books, one detailing the Finnish eradication of the Danish state in 2011. It would be hailed as the war that would debunk the democratic peace theory. That was the plan anyways, but Åland made not a move to attack. Where the hell was the fun? Denmark even genuflected and held up his hands in surrender. And Åland was willing to let it all go?

"You should probably pay Iceland back," he said lamely. "That was pretty epic though, I'm surprised you don't remember it happening." Åland elaborated, that he heard it all downstairs.

_Iceland leaned out the window, his sparkles granting the situation some light, but not enough for him, Sweden, Finland, and Norway to see who screamed. The curses gave it away. "к чёрту! ребята!"_

_Russia! Finland, his cloudy and spontaneous judgment further compromised by a profuse amount of booze, sought something dense. There was Iceland's camera, recording the historic events for the benefit of progeny. The camera with a glass lens that would shatter on impact. Unfortunately for Iceland, it was also the best trajectory weapon within reach. Finland took aim and threw. It exploded against Russia's head. Then Finland took his knife and headed outside to Finnish the job properly._

_"Crap!" Iceland looked back at the crew. "I missed. Who's next? The winner gets a beer. Hey Sweden, where are you going? Don't you want to play?"_

_Then Sweden hung up his phone. "I'm leaving. This whole thing was a terrible idea. Maybe from now on, we shouldn't be in the same room with alcohol. I suspect that Finns have herpes of the brain or something just as dangerous and I'm not subjecting myself or my sister to it any longer."_

"I tried to stop him after I heard that, but you know how stubborn he gets when he's angry. I don't know what to do."

Finland perkele'd copiously and slammed the fish to the ground, leaving it to rot in the sun. Flowers and fish wouldn't do it if Sister Sweden thought he was diseased. And no wonder she wouldn't touch him. If your professional title is 'whore' then it's bad form to carry an STD.

"Did you at least move that thing that was in my room?"

Finland drew a sharp breath and nodded. Technically yes, it moved. Did it leave the room? No. But it was in a different place than where he found it. Depressed or not, he still strove to teach Åland the importance of asking very specific questions.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for an absolution. Wait for someone to find that fabled 'rewind' button for their terrible, awful mistakes. Even Denmark had curled up in the corner of the porch to catch some sleep. Finland hoped that maybe a walk would help him think. It was a problem that couldn't be solved with something as simple as murder anymore.

He looped around to Sweden's back yard. Admiring the pleasing mix of Medieval and contemporary architecture visible in the nearby town. A sight in itself and something, under normal circumstances, Finland would have appreciated on aesthetics alone. But he was faced with _never being laid again_. But then, something miraculous happened. Serendipity manifested itself in a way that completely negated Murphey's Law.

"Finland, honey." He knew that voice…

Finland couldn't stop it. He looked Sister Sweden square in the eye. All his hard-won self-control drained from him at the sound of that voice. Immediately, she strode over, each step saturated with purpose. Her hips swayed like a pendulum all the while in a manner that Finland found positively tantalizing. Then she backhanded him across the face. "You do not look me in eye."

He obediently shifted his gaze to her chest. Complying with Swedish orders, after so many centuries after it was literally beaten into him time and time again, came as second nature. "My poor brother is miserable," she began. He wanted to listen. He really, really did. But the logical part of his brain was no match for the carnal desire to reach out and just honk those breasts. Just as Finland raised his hand…

Then Sister Sweden threw him to the ground and sat on top of him, as if that would really help. "One more move like that, and I get the chastity cage." She messaged his chest gently. "I'll tell you this and only you. Because, Finland, what I like about you is that you know how to keep a secret." Now he listened. "Austria told me he'd trade me a Lipizzaner stallion for a quality gay sex tape. I was hoping to get that horse and dress up as Lady Godiva for you." Of course, she meant 'get naked' instead of 'dress up'.

"I put a camera in Åland's room for some good footage, so I saw what your psychotic cousin did last night. Violent as hell. He needs to learn to be more quiet and pleasant like you." She crooned. "But he makes my brother happy and right now, he's upset over nothing."

Sister Sweden couldn't just say she was turning her brother into an international porn star and admit to having a tape. There had to be a way around that. "Think of a way to fix it and come see me once you have." As a parting gift, she kissed her index finger and brushed it over Finland's lips. Then she swayed back inside, giving Finland an excellent view of the butt that wouldn't quit.

Make Sweden happy, huh? There was only one way to do that. Sweden and Åland needed to make up. The hard part was the method. Finland wound his way back to the front to find the Nordics reassembled, sans Sweden.

"Okay," Iceland briefed them. "So to summarize, make up party is scheduled for the 15th. Finland, get me my check. I'll give you guys a ride back. NorwayDenmark…" their names came out as a single word, "you guys are good walking. Good. Let's call an end to this right now."

Finland nodded blindly, mulling over his new conundrum all the way home.

* * *

><p><em>Later that week …<em>

Finland stumbled into the living room, annoyed to discover that Åland sat in his favorite chair, playing Minesweeper to while away the days. He no longer reacted to Finland's threats, no longer left the house, and no longer did anything but mope. Finland had even tried spiking the coffee with Prozac to no avail. As was his habit, he snuck up behind Åland and stabbed at the chair. Åland grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, the laptop almost toppling to the carpet.

"You know why I get so annoyed with you?" he spat. "I don't care that you flail a knife at me or even that you brew me decaf coffee out of spite. You leave wet dishes in the cupboard, never look me in the eye when we toast, and you _always_ text and that costs extra!" Finland gave his cousin a deadpan look. Yup. He and Sweden were made for each other. The only thing worse than having Aland around _all the time_ and in a foul mood was Sweden being at his own house _all the time_ and in a foul mood. It didn't occur to him until that moment, and he wasn't even sure that his conclusion was cosmically possible, but Sweden and Aland were more obnoxious separated than when they were together. Sister Sweden was right. It was then that a Brilliant Idea occurred to him. In capital letters. It was a Brilliant Idea that would make all previous human innovation look like dumpster fodder. This time though, it was a Good Idea too.

It was time to make the world a better place. Some people did this by donating money to a worthy cause; others put forth special effort to smile at strangers. Finland did it with a power drill. Åland sat still in the chair, ignoring him. With the growl only fitting of a retard lion, Finland charged his cousin. Åland glanced up, then threw his computer to the chair and ran. He darted around every corner of the house, but Finland was always there, waiting with a maniacal grin that would've frightened even Ukraine's Chernobyl mutants. The happy endorphins flowed like blood. Eventually, Åland took refuge in his room, only then did the attacks cease.

* * *

><p><em>Two hours later…<em>

Finland affixed the final hinge to Åland's new door. A new door purchased from a prison compound and made of China's finest and strongest steel. A door that locked only from the outside. Åland peered out of the eye slot and reached for Finland, who raised the whirring drill in a very effective threat.

"You do know that I left that door open, you didn't have to hack it to bits." A thoughtful hmph. "How long do you honestly think you can keep me in here?" he queried, completely stoic. The answer was no later than an hour before dinner. He probably wouldn't even stay that long.

"Right," Åland sighed, "I should know better than to ask. Can you at least grab me a beer?"

A fair request. Finland parted with three bottles left over from Saturday and passed them through the eye slot. Åland cracked one open immediately. Then it got quiet. Finland used the reprieve to text Sister Sweden and let her know he'd be on his way shortly and outlined the details of Åland's imprisonment, knowing the news would reach Sweden just as rapidly as it diffused.

Then all three of Finland's Christmases came at once. First, Åland hit the wall. Literally. He body slammed it hard enough to dislodge plaster and let loose a scream. "FINLAND! You said you moved it! The second I'm out of here-" the threat never manifested because Åland was interrupted.

"Uhhhhhhh, beer for me?" It groaned from the bag. Finland pictured the Beer Ghost, slurping its way to Åland and the open bottle- his only comfort and solace behind steel.

Concurrently, as Finland nearly skipped with utter, unabated glee to the front door, Sweden called. Knowing full well what was on the way, he answered at arm's length. Then it happened.

"You. Are. Insane." Sweden snarled. "How dare you do that to him. I'll give you fair warning that I'm coming over right now to let him out and we are going to fucking," his phone trilled with a text from Sister Sweden, "kill you." Their mutual hatred of him would reunite them in a hurry, then they'd work out the rest in a tantric bout angry sex. There was only one thing left to make it perfect.

He opened the text. 'Be here in exactly 15 minutes or you're going to be in a lot of trouble.'

Finland still didn't have a car, so that probably wouldn't happen. He got weak at the thought. What did she have planned? Maybe she'd use a ball gag, and then Finland wouldn't be able to use his safe word. Not that he ever needed it…

But he did need transportation and fast. He flashed his knife in the sun and Ikaalinen came running. The reindeer smacked his lips at suspicious black goo lining his mouth and tongue. Finland had seen the substance before, when he sliced Iceland's pet in half. The obvious conclusion was that Ikaalinen ate Holar.

How would Iceland handle the news? Would he blame Finland? Be thrown into a fit of depression? Would it be another series of mysteries to solve? Most important question of all- did Finland care?

All he knew was that Ikaalinen was a really fast runner and Sister Sweden didn't like to be kept waiting. And isn't that all that mattered?

_End note: All of these guys had a great story to tell from the botched party. I cast Finland as the star because half of being a good sleuth is asking the right questions, which is something he won't do (as long as I want to keep him in character). So I thought it would be a fun challenge to have a character that had to drive action and clue gather without using dialogue. Plus I really, really just wanted to write Finland._

_So what now? The next 'chapter' of this is a synopsis of the Night Before. Look it over and read the story again now that you have all the information, see what changes. Meanwhile, I'm not done here. Chapter 1 of my next fic is on its way very shortly and things are going to get silly. So hang on tight, because it'll be one hell of a trip!_


	8. The Solution

_A/N: I didn't make it a standalone narrative since all the good scenes were utilized in flashbacks and it wouldn't do at all to merely repost them with crap in between. Below, please find the events composing the Night Before:_

Finland and Denmark faced off. Despite warnings from Norway, Denmark continued. Åland egging him on, Iceland rooting for Finland and taking pictures all the while. Sweden kept score. This continued for some time and both imbibed a number of strange drinks they weren't used to having. As the night wore on, Denmark nearly passed out and Finland declared himself the winner. Russia heard the commotion (he is one of Finland's neighbors after all) and used the opportunity to rid himself of the Beer Ghost. Denmark received it in a paper bag with ''Hу погади (translation: I'll get you)" written on it. In a panic, he ran it to Åland's room and threw it under the bed.

Åland grew quite suspicious; after all, Denmark ran screaming into his room. Suffice to say, he was quite upset and punished him by beating the crap out of him and tying him up thinking he'd go home with Sweden and let Denmark out when he got around to it (or just let Finland deal with him). Though to prolong Denmark's suffering, he did deter Finland from entering with a sock on the door and a bit of Iceland's hakarl. Meanwhile, Sweden noticed his boyfriend and Denmark were missing. He did the mental math and drunk dialed his sister to tell her that the Finns have herpes and are crazy. Sister Sweden decided not to see Finland until all of this cleared up.

Finland was on the verge of kicking them all out on account of the time. They were all tired anyways. Åland wanted the house clean and Iceland proposed chucking bottles out the window and nailed Russia who had been hanging around outside. Finland heard the scream, and then threw Iceland's camera at him, shattering it. He took one final shot (or chug) and headed outside to chase Russia away before passing out.

Everybody (save Denmark and Finland) left. Åland drove Sweden home in Finland's car, where they squabbled. Norway walked home and picked up Greenland along the way (whatever happened on that front is limited only by your lurid imagination). Iceland rode a reindeer. In the morning, Finland woke up hung over.

Thus begins our story.

_On that ironic note, the end. Thanks for reading!_


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